The Last Lament
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: Boyd attempts to reconcile his emotions and painfully admits a few things along the way.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating: K**

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**Thanks for taking the time to read – I really appreciate it … as always.**

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**The Last Lament**

I watch as the amber liquid swills fluidly around the glass turning in gentle hypnotic circles as mindlessly I rotate my hand. The emotion had been swift and concise, like an unexpected kick in the guts, forcibly taking my breath away. It had taken me a few moments to decipher what precisely it was that ripped mercilessly at my insides. The pain was immediate; the realisation that followed however came as an inky shadow skulking out of the darkness. The shadow enveloped me completely, gnawing away at my mind, pulling me one way, then pushing me another until it left me with only the crystal clear clarity of what had caused the aggressive ache that now corroded caustically in my depths. I lift my hand to my mouth and feel the burn of whiskey as it trickles seductively down my throat. I long for oblivion, and will easily drink myself there tonight.

A small wry smile pulls at my lips as my twisted mind sadistically taunts me. _'What's that old saying,_ _Peter? You don't know what you've got, until it's gone_.' I am my own tormenter. I alone am responsible for this internal torture.

In my defence I just assumed you would always be there. Though I admit that it is not much of a defence. I mean, how conceited does a man have to be to assume a woman could never love anyone other than him? But that's me. Peter Boyd. So wrapped up in the immediate that I lose sight of the bigger picture - that you have a life outside the office, one I sadly am not privy to.

Your withdrawal was gradual, I can see that now and have spent many sleepless nights whiling away the hours wondering if you tried to tell me in your own way. Of course I was oblivious. Too caught up with the unimportant to notice that I was losing the most important thing in my life. That I was losing you, Grace.

When my emotions finally caught up with my mind it was already too late. You had slipped from my grasp without me even realising I was holding you. You did so quietly in the end, with no fanfare. One minute those beautiful expressive eyes were imploring me, inciting me to throw caution to the wind, the next they reflected only a resigned acceptance that life had moved on. But still I didn't fully comprehend.

I didn't understand what it meant - that flicker of resignation staring back at me. Didn't grasp that it was the first glimpse of the end of us. We had been through some tough patches before - but friendships do, don't they? We'd always managed to turn it round, growing stronger and closer than we had been before. A formidable force you and I. I just assumed that this time would be no different, believed entirely that you'd come back to me. We didn't fight. We didn't storm out as we have done in the past, or say terrible things to one another that although unmeant, cut deeper than either of us would be prepared to admit. I told myself _'It's not that bad, she'll come round,'_and fully expected you to turn up at my office door with an apologetic smile and a bottle of wine in hand. You never came, Grace. You never came.

Every night I watched as you put on your coat, waved your goodbyes and left for the evening. And still night after night I'd tell myself _'Tomorrow will be different and if it's not, I'll talk to her, sort it out.'_It never was, and I never did. I just assumed we'd always have a tomorrow.

Thinking back, there was never a right time for you and I was there? Something always got in the way. Mary, Luke, the Unit... an unwritten line of propriety. I couldn't allow my guard to drop, not for a moment. Always in charge. Always in control. I have responsibilities, Grace, you know that, and I was afraid if admitted how I felt, if I let you in, that the consequences would have been too grave for both of us. But never once did I ever doubt that we would eventually end up together.

Just because a man doesn't say it, doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. Today, and every day since I lost you, I feel it. Raw and intense, it storms through my body destroying everything in its wake. I feel it, and it hurts like hell.

I have always prided myself on being a love 'em and leave 'em kinda guy. You know I am not one for long drawn out affairs, which I suppose is why this has impacted on me as deeply as it has. I never thought that I could ever burn inside with such an intense and unrepentant... jealousy. Jealousy. There I've said it, and as my body reels under the weight of that word I guffaw silently at my own admission. I am completely and utterly consumed with jealousy, Grace, and it's ripping a path right through my soul trampling every other emotion into submission.

Destructively I lift my gaze to where you are and feel my eyes clouding with unshed tears. I should be the one with my arms around you, I should be the one kissing you tenderly... and I should have been the one that gently slipped the gold band onto your finger today. Instead I stood inanely on the side-lines with a forced synthetic smile brushed painstakingly upon my lips as I watched another man promise to love and to cherish you for the rest of your life.

You are radiant, as every bride should be on her wedding day. The blonde hair that is highlighted with golden strands softly frames your perfect face. You think I don't notice such things, but I do, Grace. God help me I do. Your sapphire blue eyes looked lovingly at the man who stood by your side as he promised to have and to hold you and I agonisingly remembered how you used to look at me that way. Your eyes would bore into mine with such intensity that I felt them scorch my soul, an indelible imprint there for eternity. You were mine once - unspoken maybe, yet undeniably. I was so blind, Grace. I just assumed you would wait, that those eyes which expressed the words you couldn't say would always look at me with such loving tenderness. I took it for granted. I took you for granted and I am so sorry. I just assumed you would wait. I never considered you would leave me, but now it's me who is paying the ultimate price.

My mind goads me cruelly as I remember the evening you told me about your engagement. I had a chance to fight, to win you back.

"Be happy for us, Peter," you implored.

"I am happy," I lied. And silently your eyes penetrated mine once again with the intensity and ferocity of the past. For an instant the world dissolved around us in a haze of unexpressed emotion. In that moment you were mine again. I saw your eyes unlock the carefully hidden feelings that you'd suppressed and offer them up to me, daring me to accept them. I almost did. I wanted to possess them - I wanted to possess you.

An internal battle raged as I fought against my desire to reach for you, take you in my arms and kiss you into leaving him and loving me. You were willing me to do it, I'm sure you were. But I was a coward. So you assumed I didn't love you and I never corrected you. I watched as silently you released me never knowing that I wanted nothing more than to be your captive.

It's my own fault, I know that. It seems ridiculous that I could have been so narrow-minded, and stubborn... and stupid for that matter. Why I didn't fight for you I'll never know. My inaction will stand in line with the rest of the demons to haunt me for the rest of my life. I scarcely justify it by telling myself that you are happy, that you have found someone who isn't damaged, cynical, self-centred, or jaded, someone who will love and appreciate you like you deserve. And no-one deserves to be loved more than you. Even I can see that he adores you, Grace, but he can never love you as much as I do. I loved you enough to let you go.

Unanswered questions crash around in my mind painfully bumping into every surface of my skull. Why I never told you how I felt, why I didn't fight. I don't have a definitive answer, and I doubt I ever will. The only appeasement I can find is attempting to believe it was because I loved you too much. I'm damaged, Grace, we both know that; most probably beyond redemption. I know if I hadn't let you go that you would have spent the rest of your life trying to save me and that in doing so you would have destroyed yourself, and I would never allow that to happen.

I raise my glass and join a toast to the bride and groom but as I do our eyes meet. The smile I give you is not one filled with congratulations but of regret and I suspect you know because instinctively you return it. Your eyes briefly no longer reflect the joy of a bride on her wedding day but a deep sadness at what might have been. Even now, even on this day, for the briefest of moments you are mine.

I lift my glass again and motion towards you. My own private toast to all you are. You smile gently in acknowledgement before you pull your eyes away from me and are once again caught up in the celebrations leaving me to drink the regret away.

FIN


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